Red
by Crimson Lipstick
Summary: reposted . Set after X2. Scott's thoughts about Jean's death, her life, their relationship and the future... Please don't call me crazy, please don't call me insane. Memories are all that I have left, and all I can do is replay them... PLEASE R&R!


**_---_**

_Jean: I think you'll be comfortable here.  
Logan: Where's your room?  
Jean: With Scott, down the hall.  
Logan: Is that your gift? Putting up with that guy?_

_**---**_

The alarm rings.

I ignore it.

As I normally do.

There was a time though, not too long ago, when as soon as I heard that alarm, I would jolt awake, ready to start a new promising day. She would groan, and then laugh, before rolling over and telling me another minute wouldn't hurt me. I never responded to that statement, never in the five years that we'd slept in the same bed, could I think of a clever enough comeback, that would be worthy of her. I would resist the urge to open my eyes and search for my sunglasses. My lesson plans would be all ready on the table next to me, and the sunlight would filter in gorgeously through a crack in the curtains.

Because back then, there was a reason for waking up. In those times, instead of there being a cold empty space next to me, there would be a warm stunning creature, radiating promise. Besides as soon as that alarm went off, I was fully awake, not the least bit drowsy. You see, back then, I never spent lonely nights, roaming around the mansion, brooding, sometimes accompanied by a bottle, trying to remember yet somehow to forget at the same time. Not that she would have ever let me do that, anyway. It was not she could not stand to be without me; it was that our schedules were constantly full, and the only time we could be together properly was in the deep of the night. And she never wanted that time to be wasted. Neither did I, but her commitment and effort to make this relationship work was inspiring. We had our few share of problems, Emma and Logan, to name a few, but she would never tire to end these problems, and bring harmony. And these moments of quietude often occurred in our bedroom. Such, our room was ours and ours only. It was our sanctuary, the place where we loved and learnt to and accept and understand one another. It was accordingly decorated; each one of us bringing our own touch and flair to it. We were always filling to make compromises.

For instance, you know, she never liked red. I never knew why. Perhaps she thought it clashed with her hair, again, I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know. But you would never be able to tell that she didn't like red. One look at our room would give you other thoughts, with those dark red walls and scarlet bedspreads. Because, the fact was, she never said that she hated red. Never did she, even though she wore it often. But I knew she did. You see, red is my favourite colour, though I don't think I ever had a proper say in that, and she never wanted to hurt me. She was always willing to sacrifice something for someone, and that was her ultimate downfall.

Sometimes, no fuck that, often, as I'm sitting by myself, my mind travels back to that fateful day and I think of the many ways I could have stopped her. I could have. My heart tells me so. If I had just reacted three seconds faster, if she hadn't closed the door so quickly, I would have gone with her. And we would have died together, our spirits entwined, and in turn we would have been one for eternity. Because, our love was that great, so strong, that nothing, no one, could break it. Sure, some foolishly tried, but they only failed miserably, a cold empty feeling lingering in their hearts. Nobody, except us, could understand, let alone, imagine the depth of our love. I knew her better than she knew herself, she knew me better than I knew myself. She was the only person who could make me smile; the person I felt was the reason my life was created for. I knew that from the very first day we laid eyes on each other. Yeah, laugh at that, I see my dilemma. Though that's why I mainly love the fact that she was red-haired. Even though the quartz gives a pink tinge to everything, I knew her hair was still only one or two shades from its original colour.

Our bond is - was - so great that we even had our own personal telepathic link, courtesy of her, naturally. In that sense, no matter where one of us were, no matter what country either one of us were on, no matter what hemisphere, we were together in thought, mind and spirit. This link became apart of me, and because of that, I knew the exact moment she died. I felt when she was no more. I felt the emptiness, a sense of incompleteness. I shamelessly fell apart, into the arms of the only man I had ever truly disliked. And yet, I still couldn't believe. I could not believe that a few minutes could change my life forever. In that one final moment of her life, I was still dreaming of our wedding. Of the kids we would have in the future. Of the life that we would share.

However these thoughts just bring one very depressing question to my already fragile head. It's a very simple question, yet the answer is so complex. Why? Why did she take her own life? She could have stayed in the jet and still managed to save us, I know that and then - then this may sound selfish, but at first, I did not feel sorrow. Instead I felt hurt, almost to the point of being angry. My first thoughts were that she had done this to purposefully hurt me. I felt hurt when I thought she didn't value our love the way I did. Time, though, taught me the important lesson that she did what she did for the greater good, whatever that maybe, and that the very last thing she ever wanted to do was to hurt me. But, you know what? That doesn't make me feel any better at all.

Because I still feel responsible. I was the one that caused the dam to break, me and my stupid laser beams. I was the one that had caused the damage, even though many others tell me otherwise. My guilt has yet to subside, it eats away at me, every minute of the day. If it hadn't been for me screwing everything up, she would be here, telling me to remain in bed for another minute...

But yet, here I am, still lying in bed, thinking about her. Wishing she were here. Wishing I could wake up from this nightmare that could be described as my life. Some days I wonder why I bother getting out of bed at all. Somedays I wonder what eternal rest would feel like. I wonder how it would feel to fall into an endless slumber. I wonder how it would feel to break my neck as my feet grasp to find ground. I wonder how it would feel to press cold metal against my head. I wonder how it would feel to gasp out my last breaths with the mighty blue covering me. I wonder how it would feel to see my own crimson running towards my hands.

I wonder many things. Many things that scare me. After all, I'm not the person I used to be. Because of this, I'm not the man she fell in love with anymore.

Perhaps that's a good thing. Perhaps not.

The morning rain clouds up my window. And though I cannot see this, I know it looks like another miserable day. Because today will be the same as tomorrow, and the day after, cold and lifeless, filled with people and memories that never fill the empty vogue. And then maybe the day after that, I might begin to wonder more closely. I might begin to wonder if the easy way out is the right choice.

I tilt my head up and then to the left. There's a photo of her hanging on the wall. Again, I cannot see it, but I've looked at it so often, the image has become imprinted in my mind. It was taken at Ororo's birthday party, yet she managed, to me, to steal the limelight effortlessly. She's smiling at me, her teeth glistening, her eyes shining. At the time the photo was taken, her hair was long and was subsequently flowing in the wind. I move to grab my sunglasses, to see again... and then suddenly a strange ethereal feeling overtakes me. It's _her. _It's almost as if she's telling me not to give up hope, to be happy, that it's not so bad.

I try to imagine her lying to my right. Yes, now I can smell her vanilla scent. If I concentrate harder, I can hear her breathing. I can feel her hair tickling my arm. I wish I could see. I move my hand, until I can stroke her silk hair, and she moans under her breath.

Please don't call me crazy, please don't call me insane. Memories are all that I have left, and all I can do is replay them. And if I don't I will never know what tomorrow brings. I wish I had said good-bye. I wish I had told her that I love her one more time. I wish I could hold her in my arms one last time. I wish I could taste her sweet lips one last time. I need her. God, I need her so badly. And now, for the moment, she's here with me. And that's all I need.

The alarm rings again.

I hear a groan and then a laugh. The sheets rustle. Again, I wish I could open my eyes and see her.

"One more minute won't hurt you, Scott."

Her voice is gentle, delicate, _beautiful_. It makes me sleepy, yet entrances me, as if I'm under a deadly spell.

I hit the snooze button.

Five more minutes wouldn't hurt me either.

_**---**_

_My tea's gone cold  
I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all  
The morning rain clouds up my window  
And I can't see at all  
And even if I could it'll all be gray,  
But your picture on my wall  
It reminds me, that it's not so bad,  
It's not so bad..._

_**---**_


End file.
